a leap of faith (i could not take)
by thisdancingjuice
Summary: Flashback to last week, she'd shoot him a smirk, tease him for having a dirty mouth, he'd fluster and shuffle and propose going over this new song he'd been working on. But it wasn't last week. They had kissed and she had run. - a collection of drabbles and one-shots, set after 1x10 I Do (not in chronological order, but all part of the same universe)
1. she was good at that (breaking things)

**fandom:** the fosters  
**pairing:** brandon and callie  
**rating:** teen and up audiences (for swearing)  
**prompt:** brandon/callie confrontation set after the season 1A finale  
**author's note:** I haven't published a story in over three years, I haven't written anything in two, and English remains a second language to me. (what I want to say is, this is probably really crappy.)

* * *

"You think I ran because I regret kissing you? That's_ ridiculous_."

The look on her face told him everything he needed to hear. She was sure of it. And it had to because Callie had no words. No words to really express the feelings of that night. It was all there, present in her eyes and lodged in her throat. The fear racing up her back, every time she caught Jude's looks of ice and disappointment. The warm memory of Brandon and his fingers pressed to her sides and her own in his hair. They had kissed so much_._ The dread of having to do what she was worst at – make decisions. Having to make that one decision not just for herself, but for her little brother, too. The hurt because "_you're selfish, Callie._" And the want. The undeniable wish to be selfish again. And again and again and again.

It was funny, really. The person who had come to know her best, thought she felt regret. The one emotion she had not felt, had not allowed herself or even Jude to make her feel. Not about this, never about this.

"I don't know that, Callie. All I know is that one day we kiss and the next, you pull a Bonnie and Clyde with Wyatt. Maybe kissing me wasn't a smart idea–"

"Oh, I assure you, it wasn't a smart idea," she intercepted, pulling the sleeve of her shirt over the knuckles of her fingers. She wanted to be bold, "but it was _my_ idea. I have so many regrets. What happened between us isn't one of them."

She could see the realization settle in his face. His mouth curled to form the beginnings of a smile, his eyes shone a little brighter than they had since he'd come crashing into her hotel room. The boy was an open book. Open for her to read. And she had to decide (yet another decision) if she would like to close the book or barely skim the contents or completely and irrevocably lose herself in his wonderful words, spend eternity in this place where Brandon and Callie had a chance to be something, anything.

"Don't get me wrong. Kissing you was selfish. Jude told me as much," she risked another look at his face.

"Jude said you're selfish?! Callie he is–"

" – completely right. He was right, Brandon. I risked his happiness for a selfish moment. Stef and Lena were going to adopt us, Jude was going to have a family. And I put that on the line."

"Are. Present tense. They _are_ going to adopt you. Nothing's changed," his conviction was comical.

"_Nothing has changed_? We kissed, Brandon. The second your mothers adopt me, I become your sister. Your sister! For some reason, I don't believe that's what you want," Callie said slowly.

"Oh, you _know_ what I want. But what about you? What do you want?" Brandon asked, his gaze unfaltering.

"I want Jude to have a home and a family. I want for Jude –"

"You. _You_, Callie. Tell me, what you want. All that talk about finally knowing what you deserve. Prove it. Prove to me that you understand."

The dare was in his words, the challenge in the way his jaw was set. He was so radically different from the boy who placed that slice of lasagna on her plate that very first evening. This Brandon was rough around the edges. A little mysterious, a little bit screwed up. Was he just another thing she broke? Oh, she was good at that. Breaking things, that is. A beloved porcelain doll (Emily, her mother had named her) was the first thing she ever broke. She had an impressive record of breaking things, people, promises. Unbreakable was a concept that didn't exist in this world. The accident had taught her that. If she didn't take care, Brandon would be just another porcelain doll on her rap sheet. Callie decided she had done enough breaking for one day.

"I'm tired, Brandon. And you must be, too. Let's get some rest, yeah?" Her tone was final, calm. She sounded like that lovely lasagna boy. Callie didn't dare look up. Didn't want to see any more of that Foster brand of disappointment. She waited a second, two. Then one more, and she heard his feet shuffle to the bathroom door on her right. Saw his shadow in the cheap hotel room light. A nasty creaking noise, and the door was open. Silence. Was he still looking at her? She kept her own eyes locked to the floor, wouldn't risk it. She heard him clear his throat, heard the low wheezing sound of a shuddering breath. He was too close still.

"The thing is, Callie, you say you know what you deserve. I think you have no idea. If you knew, you'd stop making choices that hurt you. Or maybe you do know what you deserve and you're just a coward. A _fucking_ coward."

Flashback to a week ago, she'd shoot him a smirk, tease him for having a dirty mouth, he'd fluster and shuffle and propose going over this new song he'd been working on. But it wasn't a week ago and Brandon Foster had just dropped the F bomb on her in a cheap, smelly hotel room because they had kissed and she had run and Wyatt (the bastard) had called him and he had come after her and they might be siblings soon. She was pretty sure the situation couldn't get any messier.

"I love you, Callie."

_Well._


	2. he was not a fool (not about her)

**fandom:** the fosters  
**pairing:** brandon and callie  
**rating:** K+ (this one's harmless)  
**setting:** I know I said these drabbles/one-shots wouldn't be in chronological order. Still - because inspiration struck and I really wanted to write something - this one follows the first chapter; "the morning after"  
**author's note:** thank you for the positive feedback on part one of this drabble collection :) it is much appreciated!

* * *

Brandon notices so much about Callie.

All of his senses are on high alert around her. For instance, he likes her best in the mornings. When she's still a little tired and soft, her guard down. Down meaning, of course, just a bit lower than usual. He notices the unique way she holds her cup of coffee. The way it nearly dangles from her thin fingers. He's aware of the fact that he's probably clutching onto his own. Clutching, both hands tense, always holding on a bit too tight, most careful. That's Brandon. He knows he's staring, but how can he not? He has to watch her, make sure she stays, doesn't run – _again_. She had taken her belongings, the very last trace of her packed into a duffel bag, and run. Had left Jude behind, had left them all behind. She could never do that again, _would_ never do it again – Brandon would make sure of it.

"Thanks for the coffee. If the past days have proven anything, it's that I really can't function without my caffeine in the morning." Callie remarks, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. She wants to make it seem like an absentminded quirk, but her nervous feet, her squared shoulders and that frown give her away. Brandon is not a fool (not anymore, not about her.)

"Are we going to talk about this?" The question is frank, straight to the point. The Brandon Foster from two months ago would've stuttered, chuckled half-heartedly at her small talk. No more. He's done with half-heartedness. He watches curiously, as she moves. Shoulders sinking, brown eyes rising to meet his.

"If you have something to say – say it, Brandon," she counters. It's not enough, it never is.

"I'm pretty sure. I said what I had to say last night. Do you want to ignore it? Pretend it didn't happen?" He doesn't add the _like you always do_ that is tickling the tip of his tongue, but he knows Callie gets the idea. He can tell by the way she's on her feet and in front of him within seconds. Defiant eyes, strict mouth (thinking about her mouth had never gotten him very far.)

"You shouldn't have said those words," she speaks up, her tone resolved. Her eyes are locked on his, for the first time since before his confession. He wants to pull her into a kiss. She's lovely, when they kiss, sweeter than any fruit could ever hope to be.

She can't talk when they kiss, can't use that mouth to wound him, while it's otherwise occupied.

"You shouldn't have said those words," she repeats.

"I heard you the first time." Brandon knows he could be contradicting her. He _damn well_ should have said those words. Should have said them at the wedding. Would have said them at the wedding, had he been given the chance.

She's doing that odd fumbling thing with her hands ("_a bad habit. I got that from mom_," she had said one evening, grinning like an idiot.) He sighs exasperatedly because he should be mad and reprimanding her and _oh hey Callie, I told you I love you, I deserve some kind of a response, would not you agree?_ Instead, he grasps both her hands in his, effectively stilling her fumbling. He feels the calluses of her fingers rub against the soft, ticklish part of his palms; watches the corners of her mouth curl up in a hesitant smile. He wants to make her smile every day.

"I'm not really good at this," she admits.

"No kidding." He feels her pull her small hands away to push at his shoulders playfully. Callie rolls her eyes, Brandon grins. And for a few seconds, they're back in his room, eating rice crackers ("_rice crackers? You've gotta be kidding me,_") after jamming to the latest indie song he'd found sheet music for. Except they're not in his room. They aren't even in San Diego. They're in the cheapest room available in some rundown hotel in the middle of nowhere. This might be the most badass thing he has ever done (it surely beats stealing a Matchbox car.)

"I can't say it back, Brandon."

"I don't need you to. That's not why I said it," he offers quietly, feels the girl's arms wrap around his middle. Hugging, progress.

"I'm happy that you feel that way about me. I just, I need time? Everything is really messy right now," her voice sounds muffled against the fabric of his sweater, but he hangs onto her every word. She is right, too. Things are too messy. He doesn't see them becoming un-messy any time soon. But he wants her to have hope, so he keeps that thought to himself.

"That's okay, take your time. Just don't run, please?"

"I'm done running," she presses a barely-there kiss to his shoulder. He wonders if the touch burnt a hole in his sweater, thinks he can feel her lips against his skin. Brandon wraps his arms around Callie, resting his chin comfortably on top of her hair.

"I'll hold you to that."

And he will. He'll make her stay, that elusive girl. He'll give her every reason to.


	3. jesus to the rescue (BFNFPTSTD)

**fandom:** the fosters  
**pairing:** brandon and callie,  
**rating:** teen (for light swearing, _really_ light swearing)  
**summary:** brandon and jesus deal with callie running away; set in my post-1x10 universe  
**author's note:** I'll be gone for a week starting Saturday, so I really wanted to update before that. As per usual: any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

* * *

Callie had a way of making his world tilt on its axis. Precariously close to falling, crashing, spinning out of control. A look, a touch and there it went.

Four days.

It's been four days, since she had turned his world around with those kisses. And that made it three and a half days since she turned it around once more, by running off to _couldntcarelesswhere._ And he really couldn't care less. She was gone. She wasn't _with him_. And Brandon felt that he'd never be happy again. _Never ever._

Now, he wasn't one to exaggerate. While, yes, he was a romantic (so what? Men could be soft. Chicks dig that, or so Aiden had told him) and an occasional optimist, his moms and dad had raised him to be level-headed and careful. "_Hope for the best, but fear the worst_," Stef had said, just before his very first piano competition. He could still recall the sensation of her warm hands, rubbing circles into his shaking knees, her own nervousness betraying that motherly, affectionate smile.

Hope for the best, but fear the worst.

Brandon snorted. Hoping for the best wouldn't win him first place this time. And he didn't need to fear the worst, since it was already happening; right now, somewhere far away, further away every second, completely out of reach.

"What are you snorting at?" Jesus inquired, staring blankly at him from across the kitchen table.

Brandon came to, realizing he had drifted off into the morbid place that was his mind. Kitchen, breakfast, Jesus. Question. Must Answer. Have no answer. _Right._ He would've taken that as his cue to get up, throw his cereal in the trash for the third consecutive morning, and return to the safe solitude of his room (the only place where people didn't stare blankly at him these days.) But then he felt the words crawling up his throat, syllables tickling his palate, every single letter pushing at his tongue to move.

"I kissed Callie before the wedding. Well, she kissed me first. But I kissed back. And I wanted to kiss her, before she kissed me? I-we kissed. _We kissed_."

Brandon half expected his brother to go slack-jawed or to choke on his granola bar. But that only happened in the movies, or so it seemed. Jesus merely stopped eating for a second, pausing to look up at him, gauging his reaction. Daring Brandon to take back what he'd just confessed, deny it, make a joke of it (but that was always _her_ job, wasn't it? The denying, the joking, the one step forward, two steps back.) As soon as he realized that his brother wasn't going to say more, Jesus popped what was left of his granola bar into his mouth, chewing once, twice, before swallowing the grains. Brandon was about to go with his original plan of escaping to his room, when Jesus asked another question.

"Is that why she ran?" The words were said carefully, no accusation or judgement detectible.

"I don't know," Brandon admitted, his tone honest, resigned.

It was the one thing, he had not come to terms with. While the rest of the family was trying their best to work out the w_here did she go? When did she go? And who with?_ Brandon was stuck on the worst of all questions. He was sure they'd find her. Eventually, Stef would throw open the front door, in all her police officer glory, smiling in exhausted triumph. She'd unveil the where and when and who with. Callie would stand next to her, feet shuffling awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. But that'd be okay. Brandon had learnt to work around her shy avoidance. "Why did you leave, Callie?" He would whisper into her unkempt hair, pulling her close, knowing that she'd push him away any second now. And he would still be left wondering, his empty heart heavy. Because three months of living under the same roof as Callie Jacob had taught him, above all else, that the important questions, the him and her questions, would always remain unanswered. _To be continued_. One cliffhanger after another. Their non-relationship (it is what it isn't) felt like a tv show. _Previously on Callie and Brandon_. They were the proverbial elephant in the room.

"If you ask me, it was about time you two hooked up. The sexual tension was nasty, man."

A big, fat elephant.

"Jesus, she ran away. We kissed, Jude saw, Callie freaked out and ran. And all you have to say is _'about time you hooked up'_?"

"Wait, Jude saw? Shit." His brother had a way with words.

"I can't even look at him anymore. He must hate me, Jesus," Brandon said calmly.

"Jude is a thirteen-year-old ball of sunshine. He doesn't have it in him to hate you," Jesus replied, smirk in place once more. Brandon remembered being Jesus. Remembered being easy, carefree. Life before Callie was just that. Thing is, he didn't miss easy or carefree. Brandon missed Callie.

He watched as Jesus slid off his stool, reached across the table and grabbed his untouched breakfast.

"The way I see it, you have two options here. You can sit around and poke around that soggy cereal some more, like the melancholic drama queen you are. Or we can hunt down Jude and join forces, so we'll actually stand a chance in finding Callie, before you're grey and old."

It wasn't until he heard Jesus release that loud, boisterous laughter of his, that Brandon realized that his own mouth had begun to curl up in a smile for the first time since the wedding. He'd get his brother back for calling him a melancholic drama queen later. For now, Brandon would take his advice for what it was; a spark of hope. _Hope for the best, fear the worst. _For once in his life, he was just going to forego the fearing the worst part. He had a feeling that Callie was doing enough of that for the both of them.

"Let's go find Jude," his response was firm, as was the accompanying nod to Jesus, a silent thank you. He had a plan. It wasn't foolproof, in fact it was more of a rough idea than an actual plan. But he had that, at least. A plan, an accomplice and hope. It was a start.

Brandon Foster's Non-Foolproof Plan To Save The Day: _find the girl, never let her go again (bonus quest: kiss some more.)_


End file.
